Famous Last Words
by for-caskett-hammer-only
Summary: A state-of-mind fic exploring the mindsets of Rick and Kate after 2x24, "A Deadly Game". Somewhat strong language. Beware, understandably angst-y. Two-shot.
1. Rick

Everything comes into his comprehension in this same moment. The sunlight cracking through the window curtain, the soft splash of the ocean against land outside and below. The not-so-soft revelation that crashes into his track of conscious thought.

He'd dreamt about her again.

For what it's worth, he felt awful. He had done this before, of course, back when he'd had nothing to lose, but not like this. Usually it was the fantasy that he'd already had locked away in the recesses of his writer's brain somewhere, brought out to play because of her smirk, her lips, her snarky comment fused in with the (playful for him, flustering for her) banter that never ceased between them. Usually it was something he chuckled about later in the day, something he let meander around, something he occasionally joked about with her, him being the only one with knowledge of how real it had been in a certain R.E.M. state. He'd been unabashed, had nothing to regret because neither of them were committed to anyone, and while he'd been crossing his fingers in hopes that that would change, it gave him an out for the less-than-subtle thoughts his mind was harboring.

No, it was never like this. This time it was a real, tangible thing- a person, sleeping next to him, though facing away. That's probably for the best, considering that if he had to look at Gina right now it would only fuel the disappointment he felt in himself. Guilt slowly crept up, through his still-waking thought processes, regardless of how hard he immediately tried to force it back.

His brain split, one part telling him to calm the hell down. _You can't decide what you dream_, he tried to say. Another chided him because _you're here. With Gina. Not Kate. You spent the night in the Hamptons with Gina. Not Kate. Get yourself together, or it's going to bite you in the ass. _

But there was another part, still, that urged him to ponder this a little more. Pay attention to how his heart (among other things) was aching, how the disappointment coursed through his veins, not in himself, but simply because it _wasn't_ Kate lying next to him. How every nerve in his body wanted to indulge in his dreams, and secretly knew that those dreams wouldn't be stopping any time soon. How he needed to tell her how he felt, even if he didn't know what that was yet, and if Demming in all his handsome robbery glory hadn't come into the picture, it just might have been his gorgeous Kate lying next to him right now, in his gorgeous Hamptons house, with the gorgeous weather outside on the verge of summer. The dream from the previous night wouldn't have been a dream at all, and neither would his other fantasies, abstract or on paper. They could all be very, very real.

A sigh brings him out of those forbidden thoughts. A sharp (and if possible, irritated?) huff of breath that he's heard plenty of times before, the sigh from his ever-hurrying, never-sated ex-wife. He's been physically situated like this on countless instances, and he's been mentally _there _with Beckett just as many, but now his worlds are colliding and he can't possibly blame Gina for it because if there's one thing that all of him can agree on, it's that he did this to himself. He'll be doing the opposite of blaming her- he'll be overwhelmed with guilt for the rest of the day or, worst case scenario, _the rest of the summer_, every time he looks at the hard lines and stern expressions of his ex-wife's trying-so-hard-to-care face. He'll try to compensate for the dream that she's completely unaware of (because he'd be an idiot to ever actually confess to her about it). Yes, with sex, with cooking, with actually working on the book that she hasn't stopped nagging him about since day one (because she tries to separate their work and personal lives, but they always end up far less than what either of them would like to admit). All with a countenance that hides his feelings entirely- then again, doesn't he do that already, constantly fighting to keep himself at arms length from her every day?

Yet these thoughts are barely there, they're all running through his mind at once, and for reasons he doesn't want to visit again all that's really being focused on is _Kate wouldn't sigh like that._

Back in reality land, that part of his brain that is duly disappointed with him (probably that damned thing some people call a "conscience") is telling him he _has to stop. _Things are different now. _She _was different.

Which meant he had to be, too.

_See you in the fall._


	2. Kate

Upon the first open and shut of her awakening eyes, she catches a glimpse of the Merlot on her bedside table. On her exhale, she lets out an agitated groan, not wanting to assess the rest of the damage. Never a good first thought of the morning, ambiance of the day to follow. _It's almost empty. Why the hell d-_

_Damn it._

The memories of her night come flooding back, almost as bad as earlier in the day. _Castle. Gina. _

_Damn._

She should be waking up to the sound of the ocean, or birds. More importantly, she should be waking up in an unfamiliar bed, looking at an unfamiliar room, because for the first time in a while her own doesn't give her the comfort that it should. The only reason she'd be looking at a nearly-drained wine bottle next to her would be because there had been _two_ accompanying glasses. Yeah, if she were in the Hamptons right now, that bottle of Merlot would have a right to be empty.

"Don't get into a drinking contest with her. She can take you."

_Lanie, _she thought. _If only you knew._

She stretches out, immediately regrets it at the pounding in her brain and all of her effort is exhausted just getting out of bed. She needs coffee, she decides, tries not to dwell on how weird it feels to make her own. As she's left to think about it in the silence of her kitchen, the thought graces her mind that it's because she _needs_ him. It's in a very small way, just making her a latte, but it's a single weakness that she's developed over the short time they've known each other. She relies on another person for her to have this thing, her coffee, her life's blood, which is a scary, insistent problem that she must address as soon as possible because Katherine Beckett doesn't do weaknesses. She tries her best not to dwell on why that is, either.

What makes it worse is that she has no right to be jealous, no right to be angry, no right to be pitying herself the way she clearly did last night from the looks of her apartment. But all she sees is the smug look on Gina's face at the precinct yesterday. She can feel the nerves that she felt just before they stepped into the hallway, immediately followed by shock because _Gina_ and rage because _damn it,_ _she's_ the one who's supposed to be_ "on top of him while he finishes his book." _She's his muse, after all. He had invited _her_ to stay with him, and while at first she didn't want to think of it as a romantic getaway, that's exactly what she's picturing right now. It's what she was actually looking forward to, and she doesn't look forward to much on the weekends anymore. She was finally going to let herself go, let herself be _happy_. Now look where that got her- another weakness. Seems like she'll just be racking those up today.

As she takes that first sip of her latte, too many thoughts are crossing her mind at one time- there's a traffic jam up there, and combined with one hell of a hangover, she's just glad she's not going in to work today. She drops down onto the couch. _Why Gina, of all people? _She can't shake the question out of her head. There's absolutely no way they just connected together out of nowhere, on a whim, after years of being back to the strictly-writer-and-publisher relationship. She just can't believe it- if there's one thing she's learned about Castle, it's that he always has a reason._ There's always a story. _

That optimistic part of her brain, however small it may be at this point, wants to believe in them still. She secretly wants to believe that she didn't just miss her window, because God knows she's missed far too much already. _What had changed? _She hadn't been the most open person, that much was obvious, and she had turned him down the first time. But there was something else- she desperately wanted to believe that he didn't want this either. His smile wasn't genuine; she knows his smile, and that wasn't it. Maybe she's just hopeful. Maybe her coming along really didn't mean much, and he really was content with taking Gina instead. Or he was retaliating. _Retaliating? _

_Demming. Oh God, Tom. _

She'd liked him. He was handsome, anyone could see that. He'd matched her intellectually, and he'd had good taste. (_Though he wasn't Castle.) _

She couldn't go to the Hamptons while she was still with him on good conscience, so what was the logical thing to do? Call it off. It wasn't going to last long, anyway. She'd let him down easy, explained that it had been fun, but right now that wasn't what she'd needed. _(What she needed was Castle.)_

_Is that why the backlash all of a sudden? Was that the story? She'd dumped Demming to go away with him, but did Castle know that?_

She can't afford to think like this. It won't do her any good; she'd got along just fine on her own before, and that won't change just because Ric- _Castle_. _Castle_ is in the Hamptons for the summer with his ex-wife. It'll sting, but she's had worse news. She can put it out of her mind, she can just focus on everything else in her life, her work taking special priority. That's the way it always is, and her no-weakness policy can go back to being unalterable- _the way it was before he wormed his way into it,_ she reminds herself. Well, now he's wormed himself back out, at least for a little while. She can deal with that. She can make her own damned coffee from now on.

_See you in the fall._


End file.
